Bantering with Octagons

[sigh]

breathe in the scent
of sunlight
over easy
light so bright
you look away
but try as you might
you can't escape the scent
of sunlight
over
easy

 

[Guest]

 

[Dillinger]

Doing the dance of waiting
Waiting the dance of doing
Breathing the flow eternal
Laughing crimson voids
of dancing sighing cymbidias
While Svedish foxes wear soxes

 

[rubymyst]

She stands there waiting
Waiting to find meaning in this life
Waiting for her saviour
Waiting to be told she’s beautiful
Waiting for the wounds to be healed
Waiting to be loved
Waiting to be known
Waiting for her fears to dissolve


And still she waits....

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

Rivers flow over my shoulders and down my back as I stand waiting for the air to part and allow me to enter freely. Waiting for what seems like a eon of a minute until I step over the threshold into new. Into begining. Into now. A rivulet courses from my neck to the hollow of my breasts and down my stomach, and I stop waiting and start.

 

[Dillinger]

Waiting for Godot's breasts while GreenEyedGirl and rubymyst's estrogen is sitting low on their mounds. While waiting I attempt to take off my boot. It's exhausting work. But I am persistent - determined. I try again.

Nothing to be done. We must muse on the struggle once more then have a celebration. A celebration of Godot's breasts.

 

[sigh]

light dew on breastflesh
droplets winking in moonlight
gathering to slowly slide
off my nipple

private hairs damp now
dew from heaven
or dew from within?

race with your urges
thrust and groan and live
it's a race you'll always win


scream aloud
as the dew rises
and ride its wave
to a shuddering crest

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

Waves of mist curl over my toes and caress my ankles as the dew descends onto the blades of grass. The cooling indigo air settles around my skin, cooling the heat from the day, easing the tension of the moment, and suddenly all is well with the world and all is well with me.

 

[rubymyst]

the tension of the moment..
Runs over me
As I look at you
I try and say one word
But your empty gaze frightens me
I need to tell you how I feel
But you don't even care
So I keep watching your expressionless face
Waiting for a sign

I'm sick of waiting
For the inevitable change
So all I can really say is
sayonara

 

[Dillinger]

Well is moments
Moments are well enough
minutes are longer
hours are better
days and nights
and multicolored kites
Men in tights

 

[riff]

But women in tights
Offer delights
For the eye to see
Now if all of the lovelies
Would don such tights
What a wonderful world this could be

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Lois Armstrong
Vietnam, Good Morning
Hello Patch Adams
Goodbye Pennywise
Mr King, take a seat
Come walk the green mile
Die a thousand deaths
Breath in breath out
That blackened eternal breath

 

[riff]

Emerald skies
Turquoise-winged gulls and ruby pelicans
dive in to an ocean of foam.

 

[cymbidia]

Foam floats atop my vanilla latte like the cloud animals of grassy-backed children in the summer. Forgotten dreams of amazed delight live on in such small snatches of memories.

 

[Jimi]

When my time-blasted memory allows, I see curling surf with laughter and sunlight - all the while disciplinig the shore to its salty whim.

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Memories like lost children
Look over there
Hidden in the trees
A lost love
A new love
The love of life
If you please

 

[cymbidia]

Please and Thank-you trip like bubbling laughter from the lips of summer-free children while the words I love you are often almost devoid of any real emotional component. Sun-kissed strawberries or pomegrantes, the blood-red fruits of late fall? Which is better? Which is more valuable? Is there any inherent value in any of our words, at all, ever? Well, past the years of childhood, anyway, when whatever we wanted is possible and smiles were the coin of the realm.

 

[Guest]

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Blindness you see
Blind setting you free
inside me you see
Unbound, untied
Unsighted not free

What is and what can never be
on a kick
the misty rain soaking the street
floating down like snow flakes
covering, wetting my feet
is it cold, i dont know
I know not, I wont go

 

[freescorfr]

I'm free and rarely sighted,
A stork, like a mana,
wandering in Sinai, looking for a parting of the Seas.
My personal pyramid is rarely re-visited.

Here, straight ahead, is a landmark.

When my washing reaches the boundaries of time,
My coins are in search of pockets:
Street children requesting room-service in Claridges.

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

Washing the clothes of actors, there are never coins in the pockets. These clothes belong to people who do not exist, but their sweat apparently does. Refreshing the characters by using Woolite, rebuilding the image of a fantasy, beating the dust ftom the tapestry's story fabric.
A washing woman's work is never done behind the stage, and thank god for that!

 

[sigh]

silk slides so easily
over smooth skins of summer
and moves with the slightest breeze
loose skirts
and blouses
no bra
and flat sandals
no hose
white panties
and dark glasses over your eyes

drink in the warmth
of the sun on a beach
arms linked with your love
as the waves roll in

slight beads of sweat are for kissing


woolite and washing
stains frozen in fabric
more costly than gold

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Lives loves are sold
and then
dust turns to gold

I'm getting old
My stories nearly told
so I will fold
In half or two
And die for a screw
Either me or you
It'll do

 

[Dillinger]

Stories are told
turning into gold (spray paint)
Its all true
its all false
what do you think?
No matter.

 

[sigh]

alchemy and arsenic
i seek the philosopher's stone of the soul
i'm made of lead within
so malleable
but dense
and dull